“Coco, it’s Ruby! Are you there?”
“Ruby.” I roll to my feet and hurry to open the door because this is unusual. “Rubes. What’s up? Is everything okay? Come on in.”
She steps inside, tugging with one hand at her dark ponytail. “Am I interrupting something?”
“The party is in full swing, as you can see.” I gesture at my empty apartment. “No, Rubes, you haven’t interrupted anything.”
She nods, trudging into my tiny living room, then hesitating.
“Is something wrong with the dogs?” I ask.
My question is justified, all right? No, dogs is not a euphemism for men. Just clarifying that, in case anyone thinks otherwise.
Ruby works with stray and traumatized dogs at a local animal shelter and is often worried about them.
But she shakes her head, plopping herself on my heart-shaped sofa.
Yes, it is heart-shaped.
Yes, it’s also pink.
I do have some other pastel colors as accents, blues and mauves, and the color palette makes my heart happy.
“So what is it, girl? Spill.” I sit across from her in a pale blue rocking chair and start rocking. It can’t be that bad, right? She’s not crying or screaming. Whatever happened seems to have mostly shocked her.
She rubs her hands over her face. They are reddened and scratched. The badge of an animal lover. A tear leaks and rolls down one cheek.
That snaps something in me.
“I’ll bring tea. And cookies,” I decide, grandmother mode kicking in. “Wait right here, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”
I think about locking the front door so she doesn’t escape, but if needed, I can sprint across my tiny apartment and tackle her to the floor. She’s not going anywhere before she tells me what the matter is.
Carrying the steaming teapot and the plate of chocolate cookies to the low table, I serve her a cup. I think that in a past life I must have been a witch in a little cottage in the woods, befriending animals, brewing soups and feeding stray handsome men in need of a gorgeous girl like me.
“Here you go.” I all but shove the tea into her hands. “Drink. And start talking before I sit in your lap and squeeze your cheeks.”
Her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” I stuff a cookie into my mouth and wave with my teacup for her to start spilling the beans. I hate this feeling of helpless worry that fills me as she wipes her cheeks with one hand, the cup rattling in the other. “Are you certain this problem isn’t dog-shaped?”
“No. It’s... human-shaped.”
“Ah.” I feel I’m on solid ground now. Dogs are great, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never had one and, although I wish I had a little pet to cuddle with, I wouldn’t know the first thing about them. I shove the plate of cookies closer to her. “Eat.”
My solution to many issues. Probably in reaction to my mom’s healthy beta lifestyle. Sugar has supported me through hard times. Lettuce? Not so much.
Nodding, she sips at the tea, then takes a cookie and clutches it until it starts to crumble. “I shouldn’t have come here. You don’t know me enough and I?—”
“I know you well enough. Take whatever it is off your chest. I’m told it helps.”
She nods again and places the teacup down while continuing to crumble the cookie between her fingers. “There is this guy?—”
“I knew it!” I inhale part of my cookie and choke. Coughing, I wave for her to go on. “Dammit.”
She hesitates. “A guy at the animal shelter. We had... we had a thing.”
“A fling?”
